Keep On Stepping
by prosemeds
Summary: "To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping." Episode Insert for 8x05.


A/N: Insert for 8x05. It wasn't initially gonna be for this episode, but sequencing worked out. After Beckett leaves the loft/Before Castle can go home.

For Ericka. Thanks for being a great friend and an awesome beta for this story. (Any additional mistakes are mine.)

* * *

"To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping."

– Chinese Proverb

* * *

On any regular day, a trip to Remy's would've been ideal after work. A burger and milkshake combo to cleanse away whatever stress clouded his mind – that'd be something to actually look forward to.

If he wasn't going alone, at least.

Even so, he still manages some excitement for his meal on the way there. It's a decent walk but the night, a crisp greeting of autumn on its breath, makes the journey more pleasurable as he's dazzled by the glow of evening lights surrounding him, ears soothed from the light and sharp taps his shoes make against the chilled concrete underfoot. In the aftermath of today he relishes these few moments of peace, knowing he's only steps from silencing his stomach, one stride closer to slumber.

"Ricky!" the owner, calls from the kitchen window, automatic once he steps into the diner. It's like an alarm goes off to inform all the customers that he's arrived. "Where you been, huh?"

"Pretty busy, Al," he replies, offering the best smile to both the man and his wife standing by. Hands hidden in his pockets both fists clench in anticipation of the obvious question either is bound to ask. "I know – I'm sorry I haven't been in lately."

"We miss our favorite duo," Elena chimes in, as Al simultaneously scrapes a burger off the grill. Castle isn't sure if it's that particular sound, or the woman's words that provoke him to wince. Instead of dwelling on it, he untucks his hands and splay them on the countertop, bracing himself for whatever comes next. What he _knows_ is coming next. "Where's Katie girl?"

"I decided to grab this one without her," he says, straining for strength that just doesn't come to him.

 _It's not a lie_.

"You dining in? Elena, go show him to their booth," Al directs his wife with his spatula. She flashes Castle a smile but he resists following her, hands raised and head shaking in decline.

"I'm just gonna do take-out–"

"You haven't given us business in over a month, and you're gonna walk outta here on me just like that?" Al says without even looking up from the grill.

It's a guilt trip for sure, but the tone cracks half a smile on Castle. Nodding in reply, his eyes bat slow to convey his sincerity. Once he takes a seat Al proceeds to prepare his usual, while Elena fetches him an order of one strawberry milkshake.

Waiting gives him time to scope out the rest of the diner, a curiosity for the other customers lounging around in the homey joint. It's been so long. Once a week he'd expect to drop by with Beckett, even on the weekend for a lazy Saturday or Sunday. At the corner of his eye he makes out the booth, their booth, but refuses to look head on. He'd only torture himself with imagining the laughs and kisses they've exchanged over the years occupying that table.

It's good he was quick for the stool.

"Looks like you just missed the rain," Elena says upon her return, glancing towards the windows as she sets his milkshake down next to him. "You know, this is so odd to bring you this. You're the choco-man. Since when do you opt for Kate's order?"

He grins, admiring the tall glass full of pastel pink as he turns it in the grip of his finger tips. "Let's just say I'm drinking for her tonight."

He doesn't need to look to know she suspects something. His words, though spoken through wide lips and thinned eyes, betray the façade he's trying to keep. _I'm drinking for her tonight._ It's like she's gone.

 _Well, isn't she?_

"I don't think you'll have to," the waitress says after a moment, bowing her head but lifting her gaze to him and then glancing behind. The door opens to a brief solo of the rain singing outside, prompting him to crane his neck over his shoulder only to see his wife drenched and motionless at the entrance.

Beckett. His wife.

"There's my girl," Al hollers through the window again. "You couldn't let him eat without you, huh? You gonna dine in too, right? Might as well with that storm."

Beckett swallows, spreading her lips to offer a smile and hide the uneasiness tensing the rest of her body. Her fingers curl tighter around the duffel bag slung around her shoulder, the other hand hanging in a fist at her side as her mouth dangles, lacking proper response. Elena comes to aid her, scurrying around the counter to move her towards his stool.

"How're you doin, hun?" she asks Beckett quickly, aware of the tension tightening between the two, straining to keep her from darting back out the door. "You getting your usual too, yeah?"

Beckett nods, grimacing as she averts her gaze from Castle. Head lowered, her hand combs through and tousles the locks between her fingers to remove the excess water. She can't face him. Wary not to scare her off, his hand eases around her arm, a hold for her attention. The touch startles her anyway and frustrates him a bit, clenched teeth and a flexed jaw in result. Her steady greens meet his cautious blues, and he discerns reluctance to return his touch, feeling out whatever boundary or limitation divides them now.

He's not angry. He is however, unapologetic.

By the look she returns, he guesses she understands.

Instead of speaking, he cocks his head behind them, his stare over her never breaking as he gestures for their table. She flicks her eyes to him briefly but shies away, disheartening him at first, but he remains determined...and desperate.

"Please," he mouths. She tries her best to conceal her weakness for the pleading, but her shut lids give it away. She nods in agreement, just enough for him to see.

"I can't stay long."

He nods back curtly as he grabs his drink, gets up, and heads for their booth, setting his belongings down as he waits for her. He observes her stride towards him, reverence dragging her step by step all the way. Helping her out of her jacket rattles his memory bank and it takes him back to past dates, but he struggles not to let it get to him. Hanging the clothing over his side of the booth, she hands him her bag also, but he's unusually careful for whatever contents may reside in the bag. Taking a few guesses what else she's packed, he puts it out of mind once he sets it beside him. He's almost...protective of it.

No words follow once they both sit. Not yet. She just manages a look of gratitude, but also genuine surprise. Maybe even amusement.

What are the odds they would find each other here tonight?

His skin starts to warm with breaths digging deeper in his chest, all the while trying to figure out why his wife is so uncomfortable with him, resorting to silence. But, instead of getting into it, he seeks a different approach.

Just one step.

"You're very wet."

She's unfazed at first, but when she sees his anticipation for some response she scoffs, a smirk pulling her face up from its frown.

"How observant," she says through a faint chuckle. "If you take a look outside you'll see why."

"No umbrella, Captain?"

He already knows the answer. _You left it at home. Like you always do. Someone is too good for umbrellas._

"I run fast, so that's enough for me. You know that."

 _I know. Tell me again_.

"You look like you need coffee."

"I need sleep," she corrects, propping her elbows on the table while sinking her face into her hands. They're okay right now. Sure.

But it's not enough.

"So...you think...we'll ever get tired of our usual?"

Caught off guard, she lifts her head with both brows hitched up and curved in confusion. Her shoulders even seem to loosen. "You mean our meals?"

"Yeah. We've been coming here for years, and we've ordered differently maybe five times in total since our first date."

"Okay...one, no, these are our go-to meals...and two, are you kidding me?"

Ah. The shell breaks. Her change of tone, more familiar, lifts his lips into a grin for her. He continues to guide her out from whatever wall she's insisting to hide behind.

"What?" he asks, bright eyes and a devilish smile mocking her. She huffs at his play. His grin grows. Yeah. You're still adorable. "Seriously, what?"

"We didn't have our first date here."

"Well, wouldn't that depend on what you count as a date?" he quips. She relaxes more, distracted at first when their food arrives. It stops the conversation as Elena sets the plates down and checks if they need anything else. Before Beckett can add an order for her shake, he slides his glass towards her, looking up at their waitress with raised brows and a smirk, both of them in understanding that he wants his usual shake.

As she walks off, Beckett bites down on her lip, tugging it under her teeth. It doesn't stop the smile she's adamant to hold back, so he raises his brows, questioning her as a snicker builds in his throat. Her face turns away, falling to hide under the drape of her hair. It frames her flush cheeks, brushing against them as her teeth rake harder over her lip and _shit_ could he lose it right now.

"If you don't want it–" he begins, but she stops him by snatching it off the table, straw slipped into her mouth, sucking playfully like kid Kate Beckett. Or...rather, seductively like wife Kate Beckett.

 _God you're still so sexy._

Setting it back on the table, licking her mouth after downing nearly a fourth of the cup, she picks up the conversation again...smiling just a little bit more. "Okay, what counts as a date?"

Eyes narrowed he pretends to muse over it, waggling brows with lips pursed, but his answer sits ready between his teeth. He waits knowing that a laugh lives in her mouth, anticipating for it to burst out over his goofiness. When she does break, he finally responds. "Two available people...with maybe some kind of attraction for each other, eating together. Going out. Spending time together."

"That is...ridiculously broad, Castle. If that's the case, we've been dating for years."

"Haven't we?" he says, munching away on his burger.

"Maybe you've been dating me. You made perfectly clear your desire to sleep with me from the start. I'll concede to that," she says, reaching over to steal his fries.

"Oh really? Because _this_ ," he says gesturing with his chin, "isn't date-like?"

"Nope," she says dropping the two pieces she'd grabbed onto her tongue, each bite slicing through with a smug smile.

"You already wanted to sleep with me then. We've had this argument like five times. Pretty sure you broke that wall the first time we came here together."

"That? _That's_ what you're talking about? That was our first date to you?"

"Not officially, okay, but come on. That night needs some kind of acknowledgement. Technically speaking. You were...pretty flirty."

"Yeah, sure," she struggles, stuffing aside the bite of her burger into her cheek to say, "because I totally started it."

"So you agree!" he teases through a laugh, beaming at her as she shakes her head. "Even if you didn't, you're admitting to responding to it." She blushes. He can't stop staring. He has to cherish this.

It's like...they're renewed.

Barely an hour passes, swiftly, just like their first date – with ease, casually, and without commitment. They both breathe freely while conversing, keeping things light for as long as they can. He makes a point to learn, again, more about his wife, motivated by the enjoyment of her mere presence. He's captivated, but it's amplified with the way she tells her stories, the notes in her laugh, everything about her he's missed in her absence. Everything he fell in love with.

Everything he's falling for, again.

 _Harder_.

She responds to his energy with stories abandoned long ago, digging up anything and everything to give him, no clear direction in where they're headed. It's distant, but not so much, not as it's been lately. He does note some kind of restriction, though. Like a bind over the words she says. Careful. There's a tick, an attention towards outside of the diner, like she's waiting for someone to show up.

Afraid of it.

But he continues to loosen her up even just bit by bit, chipping off the tension in his banter with her. This helps. Whatever this is. It helps.

Taking it step by step by step.

It's not until her laugh dies abruptly when she glimpses past him, everything coming to a devastating halt. "Is that really the time already?"

His head hangs. Just over an hour when he too looks for the lapsed time. A soft exhale, remorse concentrated in the release, serves as her reply to the one he refuses to give. Wiping his hands on the napkin, he keeps his head down, stealing glances at her to figure out her next move.

"I should...get going," she drawls. The moment the words reach the air, he knows it's over. Another opportunity taken away too soon.

 _When is this gonna end?_

"Can I walk you out?"

She's reluctant, but a nod is enough as they gather their things. Going behind her he grabs her jacket to slip it on, easing both arms into each sleeve with care, his hands rubbing her shoulders once he untucks her hood. He swears that in the moment she lets him hold her, but it's cut short when she turns to face him. As he proceeds to button her up, she playfully swats him away.

"What are you doin'?"

"Come on. We both know you're not gonna do it," he grunts, returning his hands to finish the last three. Just as fast closing each button as he is opening each button. "I don't want you getting sick, especially not now."

 _Not when I can't take care of you_ , he means.

He's certain she understands once he finishes and brings his gaze to meet hers. Both her lids line with tears fast; he figures his pain must be obvious. Shaking it off he grabs her bag and slings the strap back onto her shoulder, their hands brushing with an inexplicable energy sparking between. His fingers hook to hers, even for a fleeting moment, but it's like that first touch all over again.

 _I love you so much_.

Without another word to give, they approach the counter where Elena and Al are talking. When Castle extends the money – he'd memorized how much their combined meals cost a long time ago – Al questions him, offended.

"Get outta here," he says pushing it away. Castle insists, trying to give it to Elena, but it only aggravates him. "Ricky, you better get that outta my face. Go. Go home."

Exchanging looks with Beckett, they just smile, nodding in gratitude, and the man winks at them both as they start for the door.

Out onto the street again, Castle makes out her car in the distance. It's not far, and his chest already aches for how this is about to end, but in every step together he instills the image of her under the moonlight, even as it's broken pouring over them, scattered through the charcoal clouds. The rain just sprinkles over now, anointing their skin like some kind of healing remedy. Every drop helps them breathe easier.

Even just a little under the swell of their sore soul.

When they near her car their pace begins to slow, unsure of what the next step will be...should be. Beckett being Beckett, being brave, he's not surprised when she speaks first.

"I can drive you home. So you don't have to walk," she offers. He shakes his head. "Come on, Castle. It's late, cold. Don't want you to freeze those buns off."

She's trying to keep it light, but his mind wanders elsewhere. Starting to pace, circling around the space between them, he heaves out the desire to cry so he can speak. "Do you still remember our first night together?"

She stills. It looks like anger, but it doesn't come out that way.

"Cas–of course I do," she says, voice cracking over his doubt.

"You know why I couldn't turn you away?" He catches her throat bob, but he continues to pierce his eyes into her, relentless. "I already knew. I had some doubts, little itty-bitty things, but I saw. I _saw_ the story. The end. With you. I had no clue how we would get there, but I knew it was you and me. I saw us and I believed in it. More than I believed in anything else. More than aliens and zombies and ghosts and–"

"Rick–" she tries, half-crying and half-chuckling, but concern where this is headed threads thoroughly through her tone.

"We're it. We are. And whatever this is, whatever you're trying to work through, I took responsibility for it the day I vowed myself to you, because I made you a part of me."

"It's not that simple. I _can't_ –"

"I love you. You know that right?"

A laugh reflexively falls out of her mouth as a sob, tightening her lips in a lousy attempt to steady the tremble of her face. "It's not about that. It's not. I know you do. But that's not enough to fix this. I wish it was, but it isn't."

"I just want you. I wanna go home. I want my home back."

Her words delay, mouth parting to speak but the words choked out. "I know, I know. You have to believe that's exactly what I'm fighting for."

"What, Kate, _what_ are you fighting?"

She sighs, drawing it out as the tears drain out of her. "I told you. The story hasn't changed. It's me. I'm the problem. And I'm not...I need to protect you."

"From _what_?"

Just as she goes to speak, the rain picks up, in small attacks, then in a crashing sea. The sheets come down and she calls him to join her in the car, but he's unmoved.

"Get in," she urges grabbing his arm, but he reminds her of his strength, anchoring himself where he stands.

"Go," he instructs her, peeling off her grip. She stays a moment, a questioning set of polished eyes drilling into him for answers. "I'm not going if you're not coming back with me. Go. Fine, but it's us. We're gonna get back there. I know how our story ends, and no matter what, nothing, _nothing_ is gonna keep me away from you."

When she fails to respond, he grabs her this time and guides her into the car, shutting the door before she can do anything else. Backing away, he stares with focused eyes, face taut, silently instructing her to leave. Only she pulls down her window, beckoning him back to her.

In reverence he walks, maintaining the same strength as he approaches. Bending to hear her better, her words fall out in a broken song, beating his heart from the rawness in their rasp.

"Baby, _I love you_ ," she breathes as she cups his jaw. Whether or not it's an invitation, he doesn't care.

His lips lock with hers a mere second after.

Skin to skin they pull and push, separated by a door as his hand spreads over her neck for control, her fingers clawing at his clothes to drag him closer. He buckles, stumbling off the sidewalk and onto the side of the car, but he's unfazed. The rain. The grief. The cold. None of it matters.

Not when he's finally kissing his wife again.

One hand still on her neck his other roams her body, diving down to her thighs. He slides a careful, loving hand over one and feels her burning already, the ache for him alive in her fervor to keep him near...nearer if possible.

But both are too frantic to even consider opening the door.

"I need you," he whispers between smudges of their lips. His face pressed against her he feels her wince in pain over his pleading, tears cascading thereafter between their flesh.

Each drop is too distinct from the rain.

"I'm sorry," she replies, punctuating her apology with a whimper.

He swallows her heavy breaths when he parts her legs, but each moan dies against his mouth, suffocating under his lips knowing that if they reach the air, he won't back down. He'll have to take her right there.

But he won't if she's not coming home.

So he rips away before another moment can pass, a gasp from both when he breaks the kiss. Forcing himself to look he sees her hands fold in prayer before they cradle her face, running through her hair in distress as she struggles to collect herself.

He backs away as she turns on the engine and closes her window. Once he plants himself back at a safe distance, he remains stationary under the downpour, waiting for her to leave. This is just another step.

And he's gonna keep on stepping.


End file.
